Contempt

Kneeling before his master
Silks and satins torn
Showing contempt for one so powerful
Disdainfulness and scorn
A critical disciple
Valiantly displays
A superiority
And sniffiness that plays

As part of the cuadrilla
Behold a baying crowd
A broken doll is all you are
In your great pink shroud
Hathor gives some genuine hope
To bulls who see the light
Who have the aspiration
To actually bloody well fight

The kudos and recognition
The blessings of the god
Hosannah in the highest
The encore for the yob
Prostrate and still before him
The true master who be
Commended for his tantrum
And his right to see

His screams become a whisper
The avenging angel threw
With justifiable spirit
Some sanctity into
The arena and the candour
All with scrupulous intent
Destroyed that sycophantic sod
And left him all but spent

This so called lousy culture
The tradition of those who
Really are spent forces
Their torture clueless to
The great strength and commitment
To their great god in the sky
Who from time to time retaliates
And one or other die